A Family Affair
by Delphicoracle-Cat
Summary: Mistoffelees is dating Jemima, but something just doesn't seem to be working and he can't figure out what... until he meets her attractive single dad, Munkustrap. Slash, AU. Written for CrazyIndigoChild.
1. Part One

**A Family Affair**

_Back with another story, yet again for CrazyIndigoChild. Good thing I like her! ;)_

_Despite appearances, this is not really a Misto/Jemima story (as if Delphi would ever write het!) This is good old Munk/Misto slash, though it may take them a while to get to the good stuff._

_This is also an AU (alternate universe) story, meaning sexy clothes and jobs and such. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Part One **

"... and after that, I would definitely love to see Paris," Jemima happily sighed. The lithe queen idly picked at her salad with a dreamy look in her eye. "I mean, it's just _so_ romantic, isn't it? Haven't you ever wanted to see Paris?"

Mistoffelees shifted uncomfortably in his seat and glanced around the pub. Where was that waiter with his iced tea? He'd been waiting for it for at least ten minutes. It took him a moment to realize Jemima was done chattering and was waiting for a response.

"Paris?" he said. "You'd have to learn French first, wouldn't you?"

Jemima giggled and speared some of the Caesar salad into her mouth. "But that's easy. So? Wouldn't you want to go to Paris one day?"

The tux shrugged lightly, staring down at the grilled fish on his plate. "Not particularly. If I travel, I'd rather go to Germany."

"Germany? Why? What's there to see in Germany?"

"The Black Forest, for one."

"What's that?" Jemima asked. "Like the cake?"

Mistoffelees sighed, making a lengthy production of scraping off some of the sauce from his fish. He liked Jemima just fine- well, he certainly wanted to like her. She was a beautiful queen, and she'd obviously gone to a lot of trouble to get ready for their lunch date. She wore a pretty (and awfully curve-hugging) green dress and artful accents of makeup to bring out the colouring in her face, likely designed to give her an older look. Mistoffelees already had a few years on her; he realized how lucky any tom would be to have scored the interest of such a gorgeous younger queen.

He just didn't feel lucky, however. Nor did he feel particularly attracted to her himself. There was no reason why he shouldn't be, though; so he finished scraping the grilled salmon with the tine of his fork, picked off a bite, and forced a smile.

"No, silly. The real Black Forest. It's an actual place with a lot of history. Do you know Grimm's fairy tales?"

"Not really," Jemima said, loudly chewing on a crouton. "My dad tried to read them to me when I was younger but I never liked that stuff. I think he was disappointed I never went for it."

"Well, there's supposedly a lot of magical history in the Black Forest," Mistoffelees said. "The brothers Grimm used it as inspiration for a lot of the fairy tales. All the trolls and witches and sorcerers and magical creatures- they all come from the Black Forest. And that's why I want to visit it."

"You like that weird magic stuff?"

"I love it, actually."

Jemima shrugged daintily. "I guess we can visit the Black Forest then. If I do, will you go to Paris with me?"

The tux forced a laugh that turned into an awkward cough. Damn it, where was that iced tea? "I guess we'll see. We'll need to save up first. I don't think my part-time job as a dance teacher will get me very far into Germany."

"Oh, my dad will help out," Jemima said. "You know he's been great helping me with my tuition! And speaking of my dad..."

"I know..." Mistoffelees cringed, stuffing a large forkful of salmon into his mouth.

"You still haven't met him yet!"

"I know," the tux gulped. "I will. Soon. I promise."

Jemima shook her head with a smirk, reaching across the table to poke him on the arm. "No more 'soons'. He's dying to meet my tomfriend and I'm dying for him to meet you. What are you, scared?"

"No," Mistoffelees mumbled. Instead of pulling her arm back, Jemima kept it draped across the table, and was now seductively teasing the hem of his sleeve with her delicate fingertips.

"Come on," she purred. "Just one little dinner with him. I'll make it worth your while."

Her finger crept into his sleeve and teased the fur of his arm. Any hot-blooded tom would have been salivating over the caress and the sultry look, and probably using the tablecloth to hide some restaurant-inappropriate reactions, but all Mistoffelees really felt was slight annoyance, a tickling sensation, and yearning for his glass of iced tea. What the hell was wrong with him? Sure, Jemima wasn't the sharpest claw on the paw, but she seemed practically ready to lay herself out on the remains of her Caesar salad. Couldn't he at least be having a courtesy erection?

"You win," he said, struggling to sound airy and not despondent. "I get to meet your dad."

Jemima giggled kittenishly, retrieving her wandering fingers to clap briefly. "Oh, I'm so glad! It'll be so much fun, won't it Misto? I just know my dad's going to love you!"

"I'm sure," Mistoffelees said, forcing yet another grin. He tucked into his fish, and when the waiter finally arrived to deliver his iced tea, he barely had it in him to mumble a thank-you.

* * *

Sticking a finger into the collar of his tight shirt, Mistoffelees tried to distract himself from his discomfort by studying the house around him. Jemima hadn't wasted any time in planning a dinner with her father; the very next day after their lunch date, she'd called Mistoffelees bright and early to tell him to come over for dinner tonight, her father couldn't wait to meet him, oh and could he wear that nice blue shirt Jemima loved so much? Thank you, love you!

He had to admit, the house Jemima shared with her father was exceptionally nice. It was a long, sprawling bungalow with rick oak furniture, including, he noted appreciatively, a very extensive collection of bookcases. And he'd only seen the living room so far.

Behind an expensive-looking yet comfortable couch, Mistoffelees spotted a wide patio door covered with bamboo blinds. Curious, he stepped behind the couch and parted the slats, wondering if the backyard looked as impressive as the inside. It was hard to see the full expanse of the yard, thanks to the slowly dying sunlight (it was already early December, he remembered glumly, and the days were getting shorter), but he could make out a nice and large deck, and the tux's eyes widened appreciatively as he noticed-

"There we go!" Jemima beamed, stepping out of the kitchen and holding two glasses of red wine. "I'm sure my dad won't mind if I opened a bottle of Shiraz." She joined him by the patio door and handed him a glass, smiling sheepishly. "Um, I'm sorry my dad's not here yet. He doesn't usually work this late. He is excited to meet you, I swear."

"That's fine," Mistoffelees said with a slight smile.

He took a sip of the wine, hoping a bit of alcohol would make him feel more agreeable about this whole situation. There was also a second motive; he hoped a bit of wine would help him appreciate the cute queen's assets. Jemima was wearing a rather short and slinky black dress (would her father really consent to her wearing such a garment?) with a dangerously plunging neckline that surely would have made any tom drool. The fact that Mistoffelees was more scandalized than aroused by her outfit was worrisome.

"Dinner's in the oven," Jemima said. She put her own wine glass down on a nearby side table and none-too-subtly cuddled up to Mistoffelees, wrapping her hand around his arm and laying her head against his shoulder. "I hope you like stewed chicken."

"Love it," the tux quickly said, tail twitching nervously at Jemima's advance. He could clearly smell the rose perfume she'd dabbed onto her fur.

She didn't seem to noticed his anxiety; in fact, her other hand boldly went to explore the edge of his shirt collar, teasing at the fur beneath. "You wore the blue shirt," she purred. "I love this shirt. Really brings out your gorgeous eyes…"

Mistoffelees shifted nervously. Everlasting, why was her close presence making him so uncomfortable? Maybe they were just moving too fast. Eager for a distraction, he quickly parted the bamboo slats and said, "Oh hey! You guys have a hot tub?"

"A wha... oh," Jemima said, obliviously a little frustrated by her tomfriend's short attention span. "Yeah, it's my dad's. I don't use it much."

"Too bad. I love them."

Jemima parted the slats and frowned. "I think it gets too hot in the water." She turned back towards Mistoffelees, but he'd taken advantage of her brief moment of inattentiveness to shimmy over to a nearby bookcase, intent on avoiding anything resembling an awkward silence. Silence meant an opportunity for her to make a move. And he just wasn't ready for that yet.

"I have to say, I love your library here," the tux said. It was a sincere statement; he had no idea Jemima was so interested in literature and there was an impressive selection on the shelf.

He made round eyes at a shelf full from end to end with Victorian literature, and stopped to gaze at three framed photographs on the next shelf. He recognized Jemima, in a recent photo taken sometime in the summer. Another was of a beautiful golden queen with a tight smile, and the third was of a young, handsome tabby wearing a light green dress shirt. Siblings? Jemima had never mentioned anything about brothers or sisters, and she did like to talk about everything.

"Tennyson," Mistoffelees murmured, sliding a book off the poetry shelf. "I didn't know you liked Tennyson!"

"Hm... I don't, really," Jemima shrugged. She still had her wine glass and took a long gulp. "I don't even think I've opened that book. My dad reads that stuff, not me."

Speaking of dads, Mistoffelees mused with an inward sigh, where was the old tom? He secretly hoped to deal with an aging, conservative father who wouldn't let him place a hand on his daughter. Maybe that would get Jemima to slow down a bit.

"My books are all in my room," Jemima purred. "I'll show you later tonight, maybe."

"Sure, could be fun," Mistoffelees coughed. "Er... you know, you never mentioned anything about having brothers or sisters."

Jemima gave him a funny look. "Because I don't have any."

"Are these your cousins?" He indicated the photos of the golden queen and the handsome tabby.

Jemima blinked at him for a few seconds before breaking out into a giggle. "Oh no, silly! That's my mom and dad."

"Your..." Mistoffelees' eyes widened and he leaned in for a closer look. He especially couldn't take his eyes off the photograph of her father. He'd been so sure that was her brother. He just looked so, well... so young! Not to mention handsome. This was the 'old' tom they were waiting for? Surely this picture had been taken years ago?

"I know, I know," Jemima said. "Everyone says the same thing. They look too young to have me as a daughter. They did have me awfully young. I happened to be a... well, a bit of a surprise. It wasn't easy for them to take care of a kitten at their age."

Mistoffelees nodded in sympathy. "Is that why they separated?"

"Well, no, there was something else too, but that's-"

The click of the front door put an end to the story, and the first thing Mistoffelees saw was that nope, the tom's picture was not several years out of date. A handsome, tall tabby walked inside, wearing a crisp white dress shirt and working to loosen a dark green tie. He peeked around the room and smiled a greeting as he spotted the two.

"Dad!" Jemima giggled, bounding across the room like a kitten to greet the new cat. The tabby's smile widened warmly as Jemima wrapped herself around his neck.

"Hello, sweetheart," he said, hugging her back until she loosened herself from around him. "I'm sorry I'm late, one of my clients needed an emergency meeting-"

"Don't worry about it!" Jemima beamed. She turned and reached for Mistoffelees, who still stood dumbly at the other end of the room. "Dad's a lawyer, you know. Dad, this is my tomfriend, Mistoffelees!"

The tux took a few cautious steps forward to shake the other cat's offered hand. "Munkustrap," he said, clasping Mistoffelees' hand in a warm grip.

Mistoffelees gulped, unable to take his eyes off his girlfriend's father. This was definitely not the tom he was expecting. "M-Mistoffelees," he said, even though Jemima had already introduced him.

He started when Jemima gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, sending a cloud of rose perfume in his face. "I'll go check on dinner," she said. "You two can talk!"

She disappeared into the kitchen. Her father—Munkustrap—went back to loosening and removing his tie and nodded towards the couch. "Well, Mistoffelees, have a seat."

"Oh—thank you."

The scent of artificial roses faded by the time they sat on the couch. Now, all Mistoffelees could smell was warmth and spice and a rather irresistible musk that sent his pulse racing. Munkustrap didn't smell anything like this daughter. This was much better, and it was all Mistoffelees could do to keep from inching closer to get more of the scent. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Jemima tells me you teach dance?"

Mistoffelees blinked a few times before remembering how to speak. "Yes… yes, I do. I studied ballet a lot when I was younger. I just do it part-time, at least until I find something in my field."

"Oh yes?" Munkustrap said. He shifted on the couch so he could prop his arm against the backrest. There was something awfully alluring about the way he moved; the unbuttoned top of his shirt parted open a few inches, revealing striped fur just under the hollow of his throat. "That's right, you're a bit older than Jemima. Already graduated. What did you study?"

"English literature."

The sudden, bright look on Munkustrap's face made the tux's pulse race quicker. "Really! I've always had an interest in English lit."

"I know, I mean, I noticed your collection," Mistoffelees said. He got to his feet and went to the oak bookcase he'd been admiring earlier. "You have some Tennyson—my favourite poet."

He ran his fingers over the thick spine of the book, hearing the couch rustle as Munkustrap also got to his feet.

"Happens to be one of my favourites as well," the tabby said. "Have you read-?"

"'In Memoriam'?" Mistoffelees ventured, turning just in time to see a bright smile on Munkustrap's face.

"I was just about to say that. My favourite of his."

"Mine too!"

It was Mistoffelees' turn to smile brightly. This was a new feeling, something he hadn't experienced with Jemima yet. They had nothing much in common, at least nothing that made him excited to share with her. For someone to share his love of poetry was, while geeky, also thrilling.

"If you've only studied English, you may not know about this author," Munkustrap was saying, scanning the shelf above. "But if you're interested in poetry—ah, here it is."

He pulled a slim book from the shelf, a dark blue hardcover with a title and author Mistoffelees didn't recognize.

"Charles Baudelaire," Munkustrap said, handing him the book. "French poet, but this one has the translations. Beautiful poems. You can borrow it, if you'd like."

Mistoffelees swallowed hard, delicately taking the book and cradling it to his chest. "I… I would love to borrow it, thank you."

"I think dinner's ready!" Jemima suddenly shouted, sticking her head out from the kitchen. "Who's hungry? Hey, were you guys talking about me?"

Munkustrap smiled slightly and joined his daughter in the kitchen. "Only good things, sweetheart."

Still clutching the book, Mistoffelees watched the tabby disappear through the door of the kitchen, leaving a slight tinge of his scent behind. He smelled as good as the book did—warm, spicy, comforting. He couldn't help but wish that the book wasn't the only thing he was holding in his arms; he quickly shook his head, aghast at the strange thought, and hurried to join his queenfriend at the dinner table.

* * *

Dinner, unfortunately, was a decidedly awkward affair. While Mistoffelees would have loved to continue the discussion about poetry, it was clearly something Jemima had no interest in, and so the conversation turned to more inane matters such as gossip about Jemima's classes, what her mother was up to (whom she spoke to on the phone once a day), and how she and Mistoffelees were just so in love. Mistoffelees avoided having to support the assertion by stuffing a huge forkful of stewed chicken in his mouth.

Munkustrap listened to his chatterbox daughter with a patient smile, asking Mistoffelees the standard questions about his job, his plans for the future. Once or twice, the tux spotted an opportunity to discuss something else they had in common but Jemima would quickly take control of the conversation, amorously leaning onto her tomfriend as she did so.

To Mistoffelees' further confusion, he felt less interested in Jemima's plunging neckline than he did in the fluff of silver-white fur that peeked from the undone collar of Munkustrap's shirt. He wondered what the tabby's bare chest looked like. Did those stripes go all the way down…?

"Oh! Hey! You know what we should do?" Jemima suddenly blurted, excitedly grasping Mistoffelees' sleeve. "It's nice and cold these days and it's so beautiful… why don't we go ice skating? The three of us together!"

Munkustrap dabbed at his mouth with a napkin before politely saying, "It's been a very long time since I've gone ice skating."

"I'm not a very good skater," Mistoffelees said. He was slightly amused at the tabby's answer; it seemed like the most subtle 'no' he could have managed. It sailed straight over Jemima's head.

"Oh Misto, I've seen you dance! You'd be such a good skater! And dad, it'll come right back to you as soon as you get out on the ice. Come on, what do you say? It would be so much fun!"

"Well…" the tux said, non-committal.

Jemima giggled and hugged his arm. "I knew you'd be up for it! See, dad? It'll be fun! Why don't we meet at the rink in the park this weekend?"

"Sure, Jemima. If you really want to, I suppose we can try it."

Well, Mistoffelees mused, at least having Munkustrap around would make the afternoon a bit easier to bear.

Once dinner was over, Mistoffelees claimed an early dance class as a reason to leave early. He gave Jemima a chaste kiss as a good-bye, and felt a little flush as Munkustrap handed him Baudelaire's book and asking to hear his opinion once he was done reading it.

* * *

_To be continued shortly!_


	2. Part Two

**A Family Affair**

_Thank you, sweet reviewers! Here is more._

* * *

**Part Two**

Mistoffelees stuck his hands in his coat pocket and sighed, watching his breath mist out into the cold air as he waited for Jemima and her father to show up. He'd found himself a small bench by the outdoor ice rink to sit and wait on, bored as he watched bundled-up cats walking back and forth down the sidewalk. This was going to be one long day.

He liked Jemima's father. He liked him a lot, to be honest. The tabby wasn't at all what he'd expected. He certainly hadn't expected to have so much in common with him. He was still slightly disappointed that they hadn't had the chance to finish their conversation about poetry. And to be honest, he was looking forward to seeing Munkustrap again.

He realized with a small pang that he just wasn't looking forward to spending time with Jemima.

A light coat of snow was beginning to settle on the ground, and Mistoffelees quickly dusted off his jacket. He wasn't such a fan of the cold; being skinny and short-haired made it a bit more difficult to bear. Hopefully the afternoon would be over and done with quickly. He didn't even like skating that much.

Longingly, Mistoffelees glanced at the coffee shop across the road from the frozen lake, wishing for a cup of tea or hot chocolate or anything. When he once more looked over the ambling crowd, his heart gave a little leap- he was wearing a thick blue coat, but that was definitely Munkustrap walking towards him, giving a small smile.

Everlasting, did Munkustrap ever have a beautiful smile. Jemima hadn't inherited that from him... and in fact, he was so preoccupied with thoughts of beautiful smiles that he only just noticed that Jemima wasn't with him.

"Hello, Mistoffelees," Munkustrap said. There was an awkward second as neither seemed to know how else to greet the other-handshake? Hug? Fist-bump? Both opted to stay standing, hands warming in their pockets. "I'm sorry, I didn't know where to contact you to let you know, but Jemima can't make it today."

"Oh," Mistoffelees said, only remembering a second later to add a bit of disappointment to his tone. "That's too bad. I hope everything's okay."

"Oh, fine," the tabby shrugged. "Demeter—that's Jemima's mother—just had a bad separation from her tomfriend. Jemima wanted to go see her."

Mistoffelees nodded, noting absently that Munkustrap didn't seem too bothered by the idea of his ex-queenfriend seeing other toms. He supposed it had just been a very long time since they'd been together and that he'd just stopped caring.

"But anyway…" Munkustrap said, with a hint of shyness. "Well, we're already out there. Do you still want to go skating?"

The tux's first instinct was to say no—but on a sudden impulse, he grinned mischievously and said, "Sure… but I wasn't lying when I said I was a poor skater. I might need you to hold me up."

"Seeing as how I'm dreadfully out of practice, we might have to both hold each other up. You might have the advantage, being a dancer and such."

Mistoffelees flushed slightly, caught with a sudden bubble of excitement as he realized the tabby remembered such details about him.

"Just don't expect me to lift you above my head," he finally said, his grin turning shy.

Munkustrap's reply was a short laugh—one that did nothing to quell the tux's bubble of excitement.

As it turned out, Munkustrap was the one with the advantage on the ice. To Mistoffelees' embarrassment, he'd even needed the tabby's help to lace up his rented skates (in his defense, it was not _quite_ like lacing up a pair of jazz shoes.)

The skating rink had a crude wooden fence built up around it. While Munkustrap managed to glide out a few feet onto the ice, Mistoffelees found himself clinging to the fence, both feet awkwardly pointing in different directions.

"Well, come on," Munkustrap said with an amused smile. "Surely you can at least let go of the fence."

"I don't want to die," Mistoffelees said dramatically.

This made the tabby laugh and skate closer, extending a paw. "Don't be scared. What do you do with your students when they're afraid of trying a new dance move?"

"I start by not putting skates on their feet."

"Well then come on, you big kitten. Try it once. I'll catch you, I promise."

Mistoffelees gulped, his grip on the fence loosening a tad. Well, if he _promised_… he _could_ use a warm life preserver right about now. Besides, he'd wasted enough time embarrassing himself in front of his queenfriend's father.

Letting go of the fence wasn't so bad; trying to move with the skates was a different matter. Propelling himself forward only caused him to skitter helplessly and pinwheel his arms, a useless gesture that had him pitching forward a moment later.

He didn't hit the ice. True to his word, Munkustrap caught him just in time, keeping them both up as Mistoffelees collapsed into the broad, coat-covered chest. It took a few seconds and an internal litany of _arms! Strong!_ and _smell! Good!_ before he could recover.

"Well," Mistoffelees coughed, ducking his face into his yellow scarf.

"See? Told you," Munkustrap said. "Now let's see if we can get you to do a lap around the rink without you doing the splits."

Still clutching the tabby's arm, Mistoffelees allowed himself to be gently pulled on the ice, taking tiny little steps until he'd managed to remember how to actually skate. After a few hours, he was doing fairly well on his own, though more often than not he would hit a burr on the ice and crash into Munkustrap once more. Neither seemed to mind—well, Mistoffelees himself certainly didn't mind, and the tabby made no objection to having to hold up the smaller tom every so often.

Maybe skating wasn't such a bad idea after all. Mistoffelees lost track of time, even after his nose and whiskers had gone numb from the cold and his feet felt like exploding from the pressure of being on skates.

"I don't know about you," Munkustrap said, leading them back towards the entrance of the rink. "But I think I've had enough for one day."

"Oh," Mistoffelees said, slightly disappointed that the day was about to be cut short. Just when he was getting the hang of things. And just when he couldn't think of any more excuses to gracelessly fall into Munkustrap's arms. "Yeah, it's getting chilly out."

They glided back to the entrance and unlaced their skates, though Mistoffelees struggled with cold-numb fingers and thick gloves.

"I feel like my paws are going to fall off," the tux mumbled.

"I think my tail's about to freeze off," Munkustrap agreed. "Have you ever been to that coffee shop across the street? I could use a cup of hot tea."

And just like that, Mistoffelees' fingers were nimble again, hurriedly tearing the laces off. "You read my mind!"

* * *

With his winter gear shed and his whiskers thawed, Mistoffelees felt a million times better. It didn't hurt to have a hot chocolate in his hand, and rather engaging company on the other side of the small coffee shop table.

"I can't believe you finished it already," Munkustrap said. He fiddled with the tag of his steeping tea bag as he spoke, something Mistoffelees found terribly endearing.

"I technically only read half," the tux said. "I can't speak French, after all. But thank you for lending me the book, I enjoyed it."

"French isn't so hard. Maybe you need to take a nice long trip to Paris one day."

Mistoffelees' enthusiasm deflated slightly, remembering Jemima's insistence on being taken to Paris. For a brief moment, he wondered why a 'date' with her father had him giddy while a date with her never had that effect. "Actually, I've got my eyes set on Germany."

"Germany," Munkustrap smiled. "Let me guess… literature student, the Black Forest?"

"Yes, that's exactly it!"

"Same, I'd love to see it. And maybe pick up enough German to read some original Kafka."

Mistoffelees agreed with a hearty nod, focused on sipping his hot chocolate for a moment.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to meet you earlier," Munkustrap said. As though realizing he should probably mention her out of courtesy, he added, "Jemima's been raving about you for weeks."

Mistoffelees shifted uncomfortably. "Has she? Well."

"Are things going well between the two of you?"

The tux took another, deliberately long sip of his hot chocolate, struggling to find a suitable answer. "Well... to be perfectly honest... Jemima can be a little... intimidating at times."

Munkustrap chuckled softly. "Yes, that's definitely true. I don't know where she gets it from, though. Her mother is the quiet sort and I'm really pretty boring."

"You're not boring, not even!" Mistoffelees said, embarrassed a moment later at the quickness of his reply. "Anyway... um, I… I hope Jemima's mother's all right."

"Oh, she's fine. She usually is after a short while. Don't think I don't care about her—we actually stayed very good friends after separating. It was easier on Jemima. We had her in high school, did she tell you that?"

Mistoffelees nodded quietly. "She mentioned you had her very young, yes."

"Well, you know how it is when you're young, impulsive, and in love... or at least, think you're in love."

"'Think?'"

For the first time that day, Munkustrap looked uncomfortable. He fidgeted with his tea bag before continuing. "Well, here's the thing. Demeter and I were close in high school. I thought I was in love with her. We separated when I realized I wasn't. Not because she wasn't a good person, but because I eventually realized she was… the wrong persuasion for me."

"Oh," Mistoffelees blinked. And then, as he realized what Munkustrap meant, "_Oh!_ So you're… oh, that's cool. Jemima didn't mention it to me. Does… does she know?"

"Oh, she knows," Munkustrap said, impishly taking a sip of his tea. "She just tries not to think about it too hard. She just thinks of me as her single dad and that's it."

The tux nodded slowly. Was it embarrassment or excitement that caused him to flush suddenly? He kept sneaking deliberate peeks at Munkustrap, watching as he cupped his mug with strong paws. He'd had no idea the tabby was gay. And why should he have any idea? He wasn't trying to look for it. It didn't matter to him either way.

Munkustrap absently glanced out the window, taking another sip of tea and licking a drop from his lower lip.

Nope, Mistoffelees thought, bashfully ducking his head. Didn't matter to him at all.


	3. Part Three

**A Family Affair**

**Part Three**

So weird, Mistoffelees thought glumly, how going to see Jemima was something that filled him with both dread, and a giddy sort of excitement. Over the last few weeks, he'd spent as much time with Jemima as he did with her father; they'd gone on a few outings, home for dinner, mostly an excuse to swap books, Mistoffelees told himself. Jemima didn't seem to care that he often requested to have her father along; she thought Mistoffelees was just trying to endear himself to the tabby, and she loved the idea.

Mistoffelees stood and stared at the door, watching his breath mist in the cold air as he struggled to figure out why he'd even come here tonight. Jemima had asked him over to watch movies, and playfully asked if he'd spend the night. Spend the night! They hadn't done anything like that yet. He'd agreed, much to Jemima's delight, and she promised that he was going to love seeing what she wore to bed. All he could do was nervously chuckle at the thought.

It occurred to him that he would have ended things with Jemima a long time ago, had it not been for one little detail: Munkustrap.

Surely, he told himself, it wasn't worth leading her on like this when he obviously had zero attraction to her. He may not have liked her romantically, but she was still a good cat, and deserved to find a tomfriend who did indeed love her. But he wasn't staying with her out of some misguided sense of devotion. Mistoffelees wanted one thing, and one thing only: to be able to spend time with Jemima's father. And there were too many things wrong with that to count.

Yes, he and Munkustrap had many things in common. Yes, he enjoyed his conversations with the tabby, and he enjoyed the time they spent together. Yes, there was something in his scent that made him want to curl against the broad chest and purr. Yes, he knew the tom was gay, and it didn't bother him one bit.

But that didn't mean that _he_ was... was… Oh, Bast.

Mistoffelees shook his head frantically and knocked on the door, if only to distract himself from further thoughts. A better idea would have been to turn and run, cancel tonight's dinner, give him time to sort through his thoughts before facing them both again.

Jemima opened the door half a second later. No time for stray thoughts, then. He plastered on a smile and awkwardly reciprocated when she kissed him.

"Mmm, I'm so glad you're here," she said, leading him inside. "We have the whole place to ourselves; dad's not here."

"He's not!?" Mistoffelees asked. He was relieved when Jemima missed the alarm in his tone.

"Out with my uncle. He won't be back until later."

"Hey, how about that."

"So what movie do you want to watch first?"

Thank Bast there was a copy of _Die Hard_ in the house. Mistoffelees awkwardly sat on the couch, forcing popcorn down his throat and focusing on the explosions while Jemima amorously snuggled against him.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

"I'd go for it."

"Well of course _you'd_ go for it. You'd do anything that moves, wouldn't you?"

A shrug. "It doesn't have to move."

"I'm asking what you think _I_ should do."

Tugger grinned. "What you should _do_ is him."

Munkustrap sighed. He had no energy left to glare at his brother. Instead, he stared despondently at his half-empty glass of amaretto, grateful they were sitting in a deserted corner of the bar, where no one could overhear the bizarre topic of conversation. "What am I supposed to do with this? My daughter's tomfriend, Tug. I'm in love with my daughter's tomfriend."

"Sounds like something from a weird tabloid cover."

"This isn't funny!"

"Bast, you're overthinking this so hard, I can smell wood burning," Tugger said. He drained his bottle of beer and punctuated it with an epic belch. "You just said the kid liked you!"

"I said he obviously likes spending time with me, yes," the tabby said. "That doesn't mean he's _in love_ with me."

"But he could be!"

"He's with Jemima! My daughter!"

"Doesn't sound like he's happy with her, though."

Munkustrap took a sip of his drink, swallowing with a grimace; he should have ordered something more bitter than the cloying-sweet amaretto. Sweet didn't exactly suit his mood just now. Admittedly, having Tugger take him out to a bar tonight to 'figure things out' was helping; as much as he hated to admit it, and as much as he kept playing devil's advocate, it was a relief to hear his brother insistently voicing the same thoughts he'd been having.

Yes, he liked spending time with Mistoffelees.

Yes, he was in love with Mistoffelees.

Yes, he was almost- almost- sure the tux was gay, and believed (or desperately hoped) that some of the feelings were reciprocated.

No, he didn't seem happy with Jemima, no matter the reason why.

Now… what on earth could he do about all that?

"It doesn't matter," Munkustrap glumly said. "What kind of a person… what kind of a father does that?"

"Is he straight?"

"Is he… Bast, I don't know!"

"If you had to bet money on it?"

The tabby groaned. "If I hadn't met him as my daughter's tomfriend? No, I wouldn't think he was straight. I would think he's very gay, and interested."

"So there you go."

"But-!"

"No buts! Unless you're talking about his."

"But what do you expect me to do about it? Should I talk to him?"

"You could hump his leg for a bit, see if he likes it. It's a great icebreaker. Don't do it in front of Jemmy, though. Show _some_ class."

"You either need another beer," Munkustrap sighed. "Or you've had too much. I can never tell with you."

"It's usually both," Tugger said flippantly. At his brother's still-stony look, he dropped some of the smarmy demeanor. "Wow, so you really do like this tom, don't you?"

The tabby shrugged. He went to down another gulp of his drink, but changed his mind. What he really needed right now was some gin; something that tasted as awful as he felt. "How long has it been, Tug, since Demeter? It's not like I've ever really gone looking for someone since then. Who has the time? But it's been lonely."

"Damn, And me without my violin."

"Tugger, seriously…"

"Look. Talk to him, why don't you? If he's gay and he likes you, like he _obviously seems to_, then he shouldn't be with Jemmy anyway, poor kit. If he's straight, and as miserable with Jemmy as he sounds, then you just gave him a perfect reason to get the hell out of dodge. "My queenfriend's dad tried to hump my leg!" You even gave him a cool story to tell. Win-win!"

"And then what? Am I supposed to introduce Jemima to her ex-turned-stepdad?"

"Why not? Then she'd get a live-in gay best friend. Every girl's dream."

Munkustrap gave a non-committal shrug. "I'll give it some thought."

"Just don't overthink it," Tugger said, clasping a friendly hand to his brother's shoulder. "That's my rule. Now, how about another round?"

The tabby sighed. "Gin, please."

* * *

Mistoffelees sighed and stared up at the dark ceiling, terribly uncomfortable in the cramped bed. He wanted to turn over to relieve an ache in his back, but he feared shaking the bed would wake up Jemima.

He'd had to claim a stomachache ("too much popcorn!") to keep her from jumping him as they got ready for bed. He wasn't an idiot, he knew she'd been planning to have tonight be their first time together, especially after she stepped into her room wearing an alarmingly see-through red negligee daubed with rose perfume, but there was no way Mistoffelees could force himself to go through with it. Jemima had been terribly disappointed to go straight to bed, but hadn't been angry. After some snuggling a few kisses, she'd drifted off to sleep.

Mistoffelees, however, was still wide-awake. He was too hot, too uncomfortable, and too consumed with guilt. He couldn't keep doing this. Tomorrow, he had to end things with her. He didn't know where that would leave him with Munkustrap, but this was too much to handle. Tomorrow, he would have to end things.

A hesitant creak of the house's front door nearly made him jump out of his skin. Speaking of Munkustrap… that had to be him coming home from his outing with Jemima's uncle. Ears pricked, Mistoffelees tracked the tabby's movements through the house as he fiddled in the kitchen, made a stop at the washroom, then retreated to his own room. Getting dressed for bed, going to sleep.

_I should go see him. I should go see him I should go see him I should-_

Gripping the flowery comforter in his paws, Mistoffelees tried to get comfortable as subtly as he could, listening to Jemima's soft snoring next to him.

* * *

With a near-inaudible creak, Mistoffelees pushed open the door to Munkustrap's bedroom. To his surprise, the tabby stood by the bed, wearing dark silk boxer shorts, looking as though he'd been waiting for the other cat to creep in at any moment.

"I—" Mistoffelees started, swallowing hard.

"Close the door."

He obeyed without a second thought. He'd never seen the tabby this forceful; he _liked_ it.

Munkustrap was on him in a second, crushing their lips together and smashing the small tom hard against the closed door. With easy strength, he grabbed Mistoffelees' backside and lifted him up, slamming him hard against the door.

It dimly occurred to Mistoffelees that he should have been impressed; Munkustrap was easily holding him up with one paw, while the other heatedly went searching lower, pulling down the waistband of his pajama bottoms and—and _why_ was Mistoffelees bothering to think about logistics? He was fully aroused and thrust into Munkustrap's paw as the tabby pressed it flat against his groin, still kissing him forcefully while Mistoffelees flexed and pushed his hips and _oh Bast_, he just needed a little more-

-but something wasn't right. He should have been surrounded by Munkustrap's scent, the warmth and spiciness he'd grown used to, but right now all he could smell was— rose perfume.

He woke with a violent startle, blinking in confusion, and struggling to make sense of the sudden change in scenery. He wasn't in Munkustrap's bedroom; he'd never even seen it. He registered a flowery comforter and a furry shoulder and arms around him and rose perfume and a red negligee.

"J… Jemima! What the hell?!"

Jemima jumped away from him, unlacing her arms from around him, and it was only now that Mistoffelees realized, with no small amount of horror, that he'd been humping her hip. He quickly drew the comforter over his lap to hide the bulge in his pajama pants.

"Ssh, it's okay," she said, giggling lightly. "You were having a…. well, a wet dream, I guess. I thought I'd help you out."

"I… uh—" Mistoffelees eloquently stammered, clutching the comforter in a death grip. Oh, this was bad. This was really bad.

He jumped again as Jemima caressed his chest. "Were you dreaming about me? Do you want to pick up where you left off? Be a shame to waste this…"

She began to slip her paw under the comforter. Panicking, Mistoffelees kicked off the blankets and stumbled out of bed. Thank Bast, his erection was quickly fading. "Don't, just… please don't touch me."

"Are… um, are you okay?" Jemima asked. She looked hurt, a little close to tears. It didn't help Mistoffelees' guilt any.

"No, I…. I don't want to do this. I can't do this."

"Misto!"

He backed out of the bedroom, shutting Jemima's door behind him, leaving her alone and confused while he bolted to the kitchen. He should have left the house, dammit, but of course his clothes were still on the bedroom floor and he wasn't about to go back to fetch them.

Mistoffelees all but collapsed against the counter. How in Heaviside was he going to fix this problem?

"Mistoffelees?"

Oh Bast, he didn't _need_ to see Munkustrap walking into the kitchen, bare-chested and wearing a pair of dark blue plaid pajama bottoms. It looked like the tabby hadn't gone to bed yet; his fur was still perfect and tidy.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes," Mistoffelees murmured. "Everything is wrong. Jemima and I, it's… it's not working out. And it's all my fault. I'm really confused."

He sounded shaky, close to tears, which was probably why Munkustrap came to stand beside him, putting his arm around his shoulders in a half-hug.

It was too much to handle. With his hormones and emotions already running wild, the closeness of the tabby was more than he could handle. Mistoffelees whipped around, put his arms around Munkustrap's neck, and kissed him hard.

Mistoffelees figured, on some level, that this was going to get him soundly thrown out of the house. But it was worth it, just to finally feel Munkustrap against him, bare chest to bare chest, feel his heat and his scent and taste him and it was so good, so much that it took him a few seconds to realize Munkustrap wasn't resisting this sudden assault.

He was kissing back. He was kissing back! Hesitantly, but soon the tabby's paws were on the small of his back, and he was kissing back.

It was Munkustrap who eventually put a stop to it, tearing his lips away with a pained groan.

"Misto… Mistoffelees!" he said, struggling (though half-heartedly) to get the other cat off him. "We can't do this."

"But…" Mistoffelees whimpered. He buried his face in Munkustrap's neck; oh Everlasting, the smell of him, the feel of his fur… it felt so completely right. How could he have been so blind before? This is what he wanted. Not Jemima… poor Jemima.

"You want this too."

"I do," Munkustrap whispered. "You have no idea… but we shouldn't… we really shouldn't…"

"No… we shouldn't, but… " Mistoffelees said, still holding on to the bigger cat like a lifeline. He tightened his grip and tried to kiss him again.

Munkustrap struggled against him, and at first Mistoffelees assumed he was trying to throw him off—until the tabby's strong hands pulled him off, spun him around, and sent him slamming to the wall a second before Munkustrap's mouth came down on his again.

Mistoffelees squirmed and moaned into the forceful kiss, gasping in disappointment when the tabby pulled away.

"Mistoffelees," he said between pants. "We really need to stop…"

"I'm gay," Mistoffelees said, barely audibly. His gaze sank to the floor. "I never even thought… I mean, I like Jemima, she's nice, but I wasn't feeling anything for her, and I couldn't understand why, until I met…. Until I met you."

He moved in suddenly to kiss Munkustrap again. The tabby pulled back for only a second, as though that was all the resolve he had left, and leaned in for a kiss. The weight of Munkustrap's body left his upper back pinned to the wall, while his legs instinctively spread to allow the tabby's body to push between them.

Mistoffelees couldn't help it, whimpering desperately and twisting his hips until he found something hard to grind on, even more thrilled as he realized what he was riding through the thin layer of pajama pants.

Oh Bast, this felt so good, better than anything he had felt so far, and soon Mistoffelees was burying his moans into the warm fur of Munkustrap's shoulder, his frantic humping aided as the tabby's hands snaked down to his backside to better push them together.

Mistoffelees' tail gave a loud thwack against the wall as he came, ruining his pajamas but enjoying it too much to care. He relaxed slightly, listening to Munkustrap's heavy breaths as he tightly held onto Mistoffelees' hips, thrusting until he shuddered, releasing the tom with a tired breath.

The tux worked to catch his breath, wanting nothing more than to kiss Munkustrap, throw him to the kitchen floor, have sex with him until the sun came up… but he was all too aware that there were things that needed to be figured out first.

"I needed that," he said, still out of breath. "I needed you. I still need you. Is there any way… any way we can make this work?"

"… okay," Munkustrap said. He sighed hard, composing himself, and stepped away from Mistoffelees. "We'll talk about it. We'll need to talk to Jemima too and figure this out… Bast, Jemima."

Mistoffelees nodded sheepishly. "Do you think she'll understand?"

"I guess we'll see," the tabby said. "We can't discuss it now, though. In the morning."

Mistoffelees nodded again, glancing out of the kitchen. "In the morning. I guess I should sleep on the couch tonight."

"That would be best for now," Munkustrap agreed. "I, uh, can bring you some blankets and… you can borrow some pajamas."

"Oh yes." Rather classy not to explicitly mention why they both needed new pants. Still, Mistoffelees couldn't help but smile. "Thank you. For… you know, everything."

Munkustrap smiled back, running a paw through his disheveled head fur. "Thank _you_."

He leaned in to give Mistoffelees a quick kiss between the ears before quietly disappearing to fetch the blankets and pajamas. Though drained, Mistoffelees felt, for the first time in a long while, actually happy.


End file.
